


inside out

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mild Islamophobia, Teacher Louis, Teacher Zayn, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis falls for the new english teacher against his better judgement, his familys disapproval, and his own will</p><p>or</p><p>the one where louis has preconcieved notions instilled by his mother but really likes zayn</p>
            </blockquote>





	inside out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweaterpawnoctis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaterpawnoctis/gifts).



> So, Louis isn't Islamophobic just a little wary of Zayn at the beginning as per an event in his childhood that's ingrained in him. It's not purposeful or because of blind hatred.

"On a scale from one to ten, how fuckable do I look in these pants?"

Louis turns halfway in the mirror, examining the reflection of his own bum carefully. Dress trousers aren’t exactly ideal, but he hopes getting them decently fitted was worth the money. It's the first day of school; he's got to stick to his plan this time. And despite last year's failed attempts, he's going to get laid, dammit.

"You're already looking to get arrested? On your first day?" Niall asks from the doorway. "That's a new record, even for you."

“What are you-” Louis whips around, rolling his eyes when he gets it. “Oh for God’s sake, Niall, not by the students.” Niall really takes things too far sometimes.

There’s a knapsack at his feet and a fluttering in his stomach, despite the banter he’s throwing at his friend. It’s already Louis’ fifth year teaching his Senior elective Drama class, so he’s still unreasonably nervous. Last year went well, no matter what literally every other teacher said. (Also the fact that their only Pop Lit teacher died of a heart attack doesn’t help their opinion. But Louis didn’t know him very well, so he counts the year as a good one.)

So, he’s anxious to meet the new students, the new teacher, to get this year’s winter musical in motion. He’s got a lot on his plate, a lot to do, and he’s determined to look damn good while doing it.

“You need a lift to the station or what?” It’s too early for- whatever this is.

“Would I be here if I didn’t?”

Louis loves the way his friends use him. It might just be his favorite thing.

✦✧✦

By the time Louis gets a moment to breathe, it's on his lunch break. He's starting to regret his decision of taking all morning classes, considering he has to stay later for Theater Club anyway. He's a bit of an idiot.

An example of this idiocy would be the way he bumps into someone behind him with more force than he remembers applying to his backwards step.

"Oh, sorry, I-"

"Sorry, I'm-"

Louis turns around with a giggle on his lips and comes face to face with a skinny, dark-skinned man with a buzz cut. If Louis is judging this moment correctly, this is going to be a very good year. The man he's just tripped over has a very nice face, and a very firm grip on his waist.

"You alright there?"

Louis thanks his lucky stars that he's got enough game to play this off. So he rights himself, smooths the front of his floral shirt.

"I am now, thanks."

Apparently not smooth enough, because this pretty-faced stranger is able to call him out on his bullshit.

"Think you ought to know my name before you start trying to flirt, yeah?"

Louis shrugs, the point fair but not changing the way his stomach fluttered and his mouth went dry when he saw this man's face.

"The names Louis Tomlinson. I'm notoriously famous among the students, you might've heard my name once or twice today. You can call me Tommo, like most of them do, or Mr. Whatever. Doesn't really matter to me, as long as you let me buy you lunch, considering I've knocked yours all over the floor."

Louis flashes his best toothy smile while simultaneously retaining some of his coyness, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"It's Zayn. Malik. The new Pop Lit teacher," Stranger says. "And I'll be sure to to order the most expensive thing on the menu in an attempt to deflate your ego."

Louis sticks a hand out for him to shake, a smirk finding itself on his lips.

"I like you already, Mr. Malik... How's the café across the street sound?"

Zayn agrees, so that's where they go. They walk in silence, Louis tripping over his own feet every few steps because he keeps trying to steal glances.

“That’ll be $22.50.”

And there’s a moment where they both reach for their wallets, making awkward, challenging eye contact. It's like they're getting ready to draw guns for battle. The two of them whip out their wallets but Louis is faster and smacks his on the countertop first. The cashier looks mildly startled but mostly annoyed. Louis doesn't care, because when Zayn pouts he gets to bump Zayn's shoulder with his own and watch the grin return to his face.

"You win, Tommo."

Louis doesn't know why Zayn taking his nickname suggestion makes his stomach flutter, but it does, and it keeps the smile on his face through them getting their food and finding seats.

Between talks of UFO's and superheros, Zayn mentions something about this past Ramadan.

The cliché scratch of a turntable stopping suddenly goes off in Louis' head. "S-sorry, what?" He thinks he's misheard.

Zayn looks confused, but politely smiles with nothing but a raised eyebrow. "Ramadan. It's a-"

"No," Louis laughs nervously, "I know what it is. It's just, uh..." He's coming off a bit rude, he knows, but now knowing what he knows he doesn't know if he can continue this conversation normally. "Shit! I'm late for theater!"

And it's a good thing that it's the truth, and that the clock behind Zayn's head confirms it.

"Oh. Alright." If Louis didn't know better he'd say Zayn looks disappointed as he starts slowly gathering his things in contrast to Louis' hurried packing.

"This was lovely," Louis admits honestly, before calling out behind him, "See you 'round!"

And well, his hands may be a little too clammy, making him a little too guilty, but he's got allowed to be a little wary, right? Right?

Right?

✦✧✦

When Louis gets home, he throws himself haphazardly on the floor in front of the couch. Harry's over, which means there's not a sliver of space to be salvaged on the sofa. He feels fingers in his hair before he even gets a greeting. He’s leaning against the wine-stained cushion, the one Harry always puts his top half on. An unwelcomed, but unsurprising kiss is pressed to the top of his head as well, and it’s supposed to be soothing, he thinks, but it just makes his stomach twist. Louis squeezes his eyes shut.

“You’ve just gone and used up all your brownie points for today,” Louis announces, “Good job.” And God, if pouts were audible. “Stop pouting, H, you know what this is; you know I don’t do romance.”

Harry’s fingers stay tangled in his hair even as he pulls his lips away. “Just indulge me,” he whines. “You don’t let me do anything, just give me this one time, you emotionally stunted fuck.”

Louis tsks. “It’s September, Harry. You know we have to start watching our mouths lest I fall into a habit of swearing in front of the kids. That’s a quarter in the swear jar.”

“Whatever.”

Harry uses his freakish Yeti strength to drag Louis onto the couch beside him. He makes himself as small as possible to accommodate Louis. It’s all way too couply, too much to handle on the first day of school.

“You’re fucking lucky I’m stressed, Styles.” The tension is easing out of him with every breath Harry takes against his back, though. “You’re breaking so many rules.”

“And you talk too much.”

Louis falls asleep to spite Harry.

Waking up in the bath wasn’t what he had in mind. He’s warm, Harry’s bare legs tangled around his under the water. There are so many rules being broken that Louis doesn’t think his and Harry’s fingers and toes combined could count them. They’re covered in suds, Harry drinking wine and listening to ocean sounds in candlelight. It’s so many types of wrong, but all Louis can do is roll his eyes and hope for the knot in the small of his back to ease up in the warm water.

"So I met a hot guy today."

Harry quirks an eyebrow at him. "Did you, now? What was his name?"

"Zayn," Louis keeps his eyes closed, "He's the new Pop Lit teacher. He likes superheroes."

"Sounds like you two hit it off then?"

Louis nods. "He's nice, but-"

"But?" Harry sounds smug as hell. "We both know what that means coming from you. The most desperate of them all turning someone down? Must be really seri-"

"Shut the fuck up, Harry." Louis doesn't have the patience for this today. "He's- look, he's Muslim."

The stunned silence says it all. He sounds like a Grade A asshole; there's no way he can say this that will make him seem any less bigoted than he already does.

But he should've known that Harry gets him like no one else.

"I'm sure you've got a good reason, Lou. I know you're not like that."

Louis sighs, content.

"What's for dinner?"

✦✧✦

"Did you really think I would let you get away with that?" Louis says, grinning mischievously. This is the third time this week Liam has tried to pull a prank on him and it's only the second day of school. "Really, what did you expect?"

Liam pouts on the other side of the table, clearly disheartened by his failure to make Louis sit on a slightly open ketchup packet.

“It would’ve worked,” he gripes, “You never look before you sit.”

Louis looks at Zayn, who’s been onlooking the conversation. “I’ve got a sixth sense for these sorts of things.” And he throws Zayn a wink, to which Liam throws a fit.

Liam doesn’t like when Louis has the upperhand, which is often. This instance is especially frustrating, because Liam had befriended Zayn before Louis, and has a quite obvious crush on him, and Louis is stealing him from right under Liam’s nose and corrupting him the way he did to Liam himself just a few years ago.

“Oh, shut your trap, Leemo. Just try a little harder next time, and don’t tell my friends about your secret plots against me.” Liam is honestly the dumbest person he knows. “Eat your lunch.”

Zayn looks vaguely impressed from what Louis can see in his peripheral vision, and it’s quite uplifting.

“And how’s your day been, Mr. Malik?”

He shrugs, like he’s too important for a verbal answer. Louis raises his eyebrows at him, silently asking him to elaborate. If Zayn wants to play games, Louis can too. They can both be better than words.

But what really ends up happening, is they have a silent conversation for much too long. The eye contact becomes too intimate for there to be an onlooker, and Louis is actually starting to sweat.

“If you two are done with your little eye sex moment,” Liam interrupts rudely, “I’d like to know what’s happening with this winter musical, Tommo. When are you posting sign ups?”

“Um,” Louis clears his throat, “Yeah, soon. I’ve got to finish up the supplies list, but we should be good to start recruiting. If you wanna get around to that, maybe Friday.”

Zayn looks vaguely lost, and it gives Louis’ ego a little bit of hot air. “Wanna fill me in, then?” Suddenly he can speak. It’s a miracle.

So Louis dives into his overview of what he’s doing to get ready for the musical, about how hard he’s been working on getting everything together. Zayn looks genuinely interested, and asks questions in between Louis trying to catch his breath because when he gets too excited he starts to talk too fast and it gets him a little lightheaded. It’s the most attention Louis’ ever gotten paid to one of his ramblings. Zayn doesn't seem to mind his stuttering either, and once again Liam is left on the outside of the moment. Neither of them notice when he bids them farewell and leaves.

Louis just wishes there wasn't still an inkling of wariness in the back of his head.

✦✧✦

“Harry, what’s the British equivalent of a dollar?”

Louis turns over on the carpet from his stomach to his back, and swipes at Harry’s fingers that are hanging off the couch like a kitten. He really should be finishing up grading those mini-sonnets he assigned. It’s only the second day of school, his students must honest-to-God hate him.

"You're not a feline, sweetheart. It's 64 pence to an American dollar, and one dollar, 56 cents to a British Pound."

Louis sits up, suddenly. "What are you? Google?"

"Perhaps I am."

Harry slides onto the floor, half on top of Louis and too close for comfort. Louis feels bad for leading Harry on all this time, never establishing just what they are. Harry knows is the thing. Harry has to get it, what with all of Louis’ stupid rules and constant emotional distance. The emotional distance has become physical, and Louis keeps wondering why Harry sticks around at all these days, but he doesn’t have the balls to ask.

And all he has on his mind is Zayn, who he doesn’t think he’d mind cuddling and sharing secrets with. He’s known Harry forever, and they know each other inside and out. Even then, they have nothing in common, nothing to talk about but the mutual infatuation for each other that they’ve outgrown. He wants the fights over Marvel versus D.C that Zayn poses, the chats about art and their contrasting music taste. He’s known Zayn for two days and already knows that they would work. And that scares him, kind of, for so many stupid reasons and for one big, extremely idiotic reason.

“Am I a bad person?”

The words are muffled by Harry’s hair, a few strands getting stuck to his tongue. The closeness is comforting, but platonic at best.

“What?” Harry looks up at him with sad eyes. “What makes you say that?”

Louis just shakes his head. “Am I?”

“No.” And Harry gets it, just like he always does, and doesn’t say anything more. “You’re not a bad person.”

✦✧✦

The next day, Louis makes it a point to not avoid Zayn even though he spent the whole night in anxious thought about seeing him. Harry asked him what's wrong about fourteen times, but he couldn't bring himself to say it again.

And it's just his luck that he ends up doing the opposite, and it totally looks like he's dodging the man when lunch comes around.

"You been avoiding me, Tomlinson?"

It's a very straightforward question with a very straightforward answer, but Louis can't seem to get his mouth to work. He just stares at Zayn with his eyes all squinty and his mouth hanging open, trying not to look as though Zayn's beauty has flown right past him. It really makes no sense, but Louis just gave out an assignment for a one-act play and all he's been thinking about for the last ten minutes is that he's going to be the one to read and grade them as well. He really hates his job sometimes. His students must hate him more, though.

"I'll take that as a yes," is what startles Louis from his thoughts. Right. There was a question to be answered.

"Actually," he feels the need to clear things up, "I've been looking for you." He’s nervously piling salad into his plastic bowl, which is slowly starting to look purely like a mountain of lettuce.

Zayn rolls his eyes as he sits at the table behind where Louis is standing. When Louis turns around he’s faced with a smirk, a small chuckle, and the shoveling of spaghetti into Zayn’s mouth. He already hates him. Louis hates Zayn and his stupid, stupid pretty face.

“What are you smiling about?”

Zayn shrugs. “That’s just… a lot of salad.” He laughs at his own joke.

Louis' eyebrows draw together and his eyes fall into a squint of their own volition. "I'm-" He doesn't even know what's happening. "I'm well aware."

He joins Zayn at the table, trying not to let his hesitance and juxtaposing mesmerization show.

"So did you look up that comic I was telling you about?"

Louis nods, still surprised as to how he'd never heard of it in the first place. He doesn't like Zayn having one up on him.

"And?"

"Turns out there's only like, a few hundred copies left." He wishes he was lying, that he hadn't looked it up. He wishes he wasn't already so whipped. "And I can't afford any of them on my salary."

Zayn laughs and Louis swears that his heart stops beating for a second. He’s really starting to question if he’s turning into the kids he teaches; he’s developing a cold hard crush on his co-worker.

His Muslim co-worker.

And suddenly it isn’t about him. What will his mother say? His sisters? Suppose this does work out between them, and it becomes more than Louis just wanting sex from someone other than Harry. Even though Harry him haven't actually had any sex in a while but- what then? He goes home for Christmas with this man on his arm and no way of warning either of them of the elephant that will drop in the room? They’ll never forgive him, because his family sees them as all the same. His family sees their father’s death in the face of every Muslim they meet.

It isn’t right, Louis knows, or fair in the slightest, but he can’t help but be so afraid of the whispers that will go on, the own nagging in his head of the memory of the event that ruined his childhood, that tore his family apart from the inside out for so many years.

“Louis? You alright?”

He’s gotten lost in his own head again, it seems. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” Louis nods, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Just... thinking."

Zayn meets his eyes, the softest of smiles decorating his face. "You do that too much."

Louis does, he knows, so he just nods. And Zayn just keeps staring at him.

"What's your favorite color?"

"What?"

"What's your favorite color?" Zayn asks again.

"Um," Louis wishes he felt the ease of their first conversation, their first lunch. It's been three days and he's already ruined this friendship that had so much potential. "Red."

Zayn nods in approval but doesn't say anything more. It's quite suspicious, and Louis hates how much he likes the vagueness. It leaves room for a surprise. And Louis loves surprises.

“So,” Louis announces, “Got any papers that need grading over the weekend? Me and Payno usually make a night of it, but he’s actually got actual plans this time around. So it appears that I’ve been ditched.”

“I do, actually.”

The halfhearted sentences are really putting a damper on Louis’ motivation to pursue this very attractive gentlemen, leaving him with butterflies in his stomach and still that little bit of guilt tightening his chest.

“Good.” Louis nods to himself. “It’s a date.”

Except it isn’t and he kind of wishes it was.

✦✧✦

Half an hour before Zayn is due to show up, Louis is clicking a lighter on and off and staring at the Whiskers On Kittens scented candle in the middle of the coffee table. It’s taunting him, is what it’s doing. It’s been there since Harry bought it three Christmases ago, never lit but always there, watching Louis and waiting for an opportunity like this.

Louis has never felt so much hatred towards an inanimate object in his life.

“Light it, Louis,” he says. “He won’t even notice. It’ll be for you. Set the mood. It doesn’t matter what he believes in. You know he’s right for you. Light the candle. Light the candle and then light that one over there because he won’t even know and because it’s romantic.” The word comes out a little slurred, but only because it’s his worst enemy, probably.

He takes a deep breath, swallows his pride, and lights the candle on the coffee table then the one on the television that’s in an owl candle holder. It’s eyes freak him out, but he’s way too lazy to move it, much less get rid of it.

The soft glow from the candles enrapture him enough to make him jump when the doorbell buzzes. He dusts off his floral button up, stupidly, and makes a face at himself for doing it. When he gets to door and opens it, his heart is in his throat for some reason. Zayn’s just standing there, a smile on his face and dressed comfortably in sweats and a t-shirt, arms full of papers. There's a pen stuck behind his ear, and Louis feels grossly overdressed.

"Can I come in?"

"What?" Louis' vision unblurs. "Oh, sorry, yes. Make yourself at home."

Zayn does just that, tossing his work onto the coffee table and narrowly missing the candle.

"That smells lovely."

Louis looks back on his earlier dilemma with a blank stare. He really hates himself.

"Thanks," he manages through a fake smile.

After they start cracking down on their papers, Louis sweating uncomfortably and pulling at his collar, Zayn moves from the couch to the floor beside Louis and suggests that that order a pizza. It's a great idea, one that Louis doesn't have the energy to follow through on.

"Do you want me to order it?"

Louis shakes his head, it lolling back onto the couch cushions as he points at Zayn with the red pen in his hand. It makes contact with something, but he's too exhausted to open his eyes and check what with.

"Hey!"

The shout makes him open his eyes, and he opens his eyes to see Zayn rubbing at a spot on his arm. After a moment, Zayn is coming at him with his own pen, marking Louis' arm aimlessly in retaliation.

And Louis doesn't take well to not having the last word, or drawing, and pens his signature X-eyed smiley face on Zayn's bare arm. Albeit difficult to find an empty space, Louis manages  and the red ink stands out starkly against Zayn's sleeve of tattoos that's mostly comprised of black. Louis has barely pulled away before Zayn's grabbing his left arm and swirling away a pattern on the vast expanse of empty space.

And by the time they're done drawing all over each other, Louis has art of another kind littering his skin, meanwhile Zayn's got nothing but meaningless doodles all over his arms and neck.

Louis ends up with his head in Zayn's lap somehow, toying with a small hole in the fabric near his knee. He's drifting in and out of consciousness, the weight of Zayn's hand resting on his neck making him drowsy.

"I really like you," he finds himself mumbling through the haze.

No part of Zayn's body language indicates that he's in the least bit fazed.

"I know," Zayn says. "You got all done up and lit candles for me."

"Only because I thought you wouldn't notice."

Zayn laughs quietly, lets his fingers drift from Louis' neck to his hair. "I should get going. It's late."

If Louis of substantially disappointed by the cliché statement, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he heaves himself off the floor and starts helping Zayn gather his things. He's all packed up and standing in the doorway before Louis knows it, and Louis doesn't want to say goodbye. The nothing that they did for the entire six hours that Zayn was there was more fun than Louis's had in a long time. He was comfortable, content. It was too nice for him to let go of.

"Could we, uh," the words feel heavy in his mouth, "Maybe..."

"Do this again?" Zayn supplies.

Louis nods, barely managing eye contact with the unfamiliar fluttering going on in his stomach.

Suddenly, Zayn is in his space, silently demanding that Louis look him in the eye. They just stand there, for what feels like a stupidly long time, until Zayn's leaning forward and their noses are brushing against each other.

For a ridiculous moment, Louis considers pulling away. He considers not letting this happen, not letting himself ignore what his stupid brain is telling him for once. But he's being so, so stupid and he knows it. So he spites himself, and lets Zayn close the distance between them, and suddenly he's wondering how the fuck he could've let himself think for one moment to not let this happen.

It's the best first kiss he's ever had.

And it's over way too soon because he's gasping for breath and stuttering out an apology before his mouth has even asked permission to do so.

"W-What for?"

Louis' brain short circuits. "No! No, not you. I don't- Sorry. I'm so, so tired. I don't know what I'm saying, but-"

"Talk, Louis."

"I really, really like you." He can't fuck this up. He can't. "This was fantastic, that was fantastic, you are fantastic." He pecks Zayn on the lips for good measure, smiling softly and letting the words sink in. "Goodnight, Mr. Malik."

Zayn doesn't look satisfied with his answer, but drops the subject anyway. "That's creepy, don't call me that anymore." And it seems he can't help the smile that cracks his concerned expression. "Goodnight."

And he's gone, leaving Louis to slump against the door in a state of half giddiness and half self-hatred for his loose tongue.

But Zayn kissed him, so he falls asleep with a grin on his lips that makes his borderline-aromantic self a little nauseous.

✦✧✦

Louis finds himself in the park on Tuesday, sitting on a bench and tearing the leaves that fall on him into the tiniest pieces possible. He hasn’t seen or spoke to Zayn since Saturday, and all he wants to do is clear the air because he knows that Zayn isn’t seeking him out because of his inability to control his mouth.

An unsuspecting crunch of leaves to his left and a, “That’s not very good for the environment, you know,” startles him. He recognizes the voice immediately, the scuff of Doc Martens on the pavement. Zayn sits down next to him with hands in his pockets and the smell of smoke wafting off his leather jacket.

“Yeah, well.” It’s barely an answer, so the silence remains.

Zayn sighs. Louis can see him staring off into the distance in his peripheral vision.

“Why’d you say sorry?” Louis opens his mouth, but doesn’t get a chance to say anything. “Don’t say nothing. I haven’t known you long but you’re really easy to read. And anything you apologize for can’t be nothing. So just tell me. Or else I’m not quite sure the other night really meant anything.”

Louis has only had to tell a harsh truth twice in his life. The first time was when he was fifteen, and had to tell his mother the truth about him and Harry, that they were more than best friends and that he hadn’t liked girls for a long time. She’d hugged him and told him that it was alright and that he should probably start keeping his bedroom door open when Harry was over.

The second time was only two years after his dad died, when he had to officially break it off with Harry, emotionally speaking. He told Harry that they couldn’t go on dates anymore, that they couldn’t be a couple because he’s not as emotionally invested as he once was. Harry just wasn’t it for him, but he couldn’t lose his best friend. And all that really did was fuck up their friendship.

It seems now the third time is going to happen on a park bench in the middle of September, when he’s twenty-nine and learning how to love normally again.

“My dad was killed in 9/11,” is what he starts with, “And my mom has conditioned me to hate every Muslim I see ever since. I’ve grown out of it, learned in time that what she always said was through hatred and grieving and pain. But if we do end up together, and I bring you back to her one Christmas, or even want to tell her about you, I- I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.

“I was scared at first, because it was so hard to kick the habit in the first place, but I realized I was just being stupid. Because you’re a great person and I like you so much and whatever you practice or believe in shouldn’t change that.” He might be tearing up a little. “And that’s what I apologized for. I was half asleep and was apologizing for something that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I just- I don’t want her to hate me.”

Louis doesn’t look up, but he can feel Zayn’s eyes on the side of his face. Soon, he feels more than that when Zayn scoots closer and throws an arm over his shoulder. It’s friendly and comforting, and Louis lets himself fall into Zayn’s side, inhaling the stale scent of him and the nicotine.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says. “About your dad, and what your mom thinks. About what you used to think or still do. I know it’s not your fault. So you don’t have to apologize.”

“But I do-” Louis tries to argue. But Zayn just squeezes his arm tightly and he gets the message.

“We can be okay.” Zayn loosens his grip. “I like spending time with you and talking to you. I’ll say what you want to her for this to work. It can be fine. You probably don’t wanna lie, but- But it can be fine. She won’t hate you.”

“Okay.”

Louis doesn’t know what else to say, because he desperately wants this to work out, but there’s so much that Zayn doesn’t to be put through just to please his family. If Zayn wants this as much as him, he’ll have to find a way to tell his mother, find a way to make her believe that what she’s believed for all these years isn’t true. He’ll have to break his fourth harsh truth and it’ll probably be worth it in the end. Because nothing’s ever felt the way it does with Zayn, not even with Harry. Having a best friend that loves what he loves, that isn’t afraid to call him out on his shit, that’s smarter than him and always knows what he’s talking about.

So, yeah, they can make this work. Louis can make something work for once in his life.

“Um, so. What d’you think about Andrew Garfield’s portrayal of Spider-man?” Zayn says suddenly.

Louis sits up, wipes his eyes and laughs. “Oh, it was shit.” And he watches with pleasure as Zayn’s expression turns scandalized.

(It wasn’t really all that bad.)


End file.
